


underneath the skin there's a human

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Banter, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Size Kink, getting clean by getting filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: Everything aches. Every bit of skin and clothes, covered in thick, stinking mud and leaves. Mud slowly drying and cracking on her face and neck. Her hands look like the claws of some cryptid that spent the better part of its afterlife in a forgotten roadside attraction. She could cheerfully maim for a hot shower, minus the cheerful part.Sometimes you have to get clean to get dirty.





	underneath the skin there's a human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emma98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma98/gifts), [DizzyRedhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/gifts).



> This fic is all Emma's fault. I almost feel as if I'm a bad influence on her....naaah too late for that. This fic took an ages to write as I did a lot of fighting with my own brain to focus for a short time here and there. my undying love goes to Dizzy for wrangling my grammar and tense switches. Love goes to Aenaria, leftennant, littlepleb, and Miin for listening to me whine about not writing and reading snippets as I wrote them. It's so nice to have finished something and be able to tick it off the list.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. 

Everything aches. Every bit of skin and clothes, covered in thick, stinking mud and leaves. Mud slowly drying and cracking on her face and neck. Her hands look like the claws of some cryptid that spent the better part of its afterlife in a forgotten roadside attraction. 

Her left boot is filled with sloshing liquid. The right is a hundred miles south and about three feet below the surface of the swampy area Hydra scum chose to house one of their bases of operations. 

The only thing that made bathing in the bog of eternal stench bearable was the fact that Steve fell in when he was rescuing her. Needlessly rescuing her. 

“Lewis, are you even listening to me?” Maria says. 

“Yeah, something about tech support, shouldn’t have been cleared for fieldwork,” Darcy says, scratching at her neck. She pulls a lump of green...something, from the collar of her jacket. 

“Go hit the showers. You can do your report afterwards.” Maria says, jerking her head to the side. She wrinkles her nose and deftly sidesteps the trail of debris in Darcy’s wake. 

The green lump in Darcy’s hand quivers and pops. Darcy squeals, flicking the lump onto the floor. 

“Gross,” Maria says.

“Nasty,” Darcy agrees, limping down the ramp of the quinjet. 

…

The decontamination showers are just off to the right of the landing pad. She fights with the zipper of her jacket as she squelches into the room on slightly wobbly legs. 

“Got you, you little bastard,” Darcy mutters, jerking the zipper teeth free of each other. The jacket falls to the floor, soon followed by the filthy layers of her shirt and vest. She looks up--

The room isn't empty. Steve stands beneath the spray of one of the shower heads, the top of his uniform and his underarmor shirt in a muddy heap on the floor. His pants and torso are as filthy as Darcy feels. His hair is spiked up with mud and a green lump of something sits high on his shoulder. His mouth fishes open when he sees her, hand freezing over the weird spat thing on one of his boots. 

“Uh, ....Captain,” Darcy says, a jolt of adrenaline sluggishly creeping down her spine. 

Steve clears his throat, pulling off the boot. A stone clatters to the tiled floor amid a stream of muddy water. “Lewis,” he says. The boot hits the sodden pile of Steve’s uniform pieces and he rolls his shoulders back. 

“There’s a thing,” Darcy says waving at her own shoulder. 

Steve reaches up brushing the swamp snot from his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem-o,” Darcy nods. A clump of muddy hair slips forward over her eyes with the movement. She bends down with a groan and unbuckles her own boots--well, boot. Her socks are black, where they once had been pink with happy little green frogs in pink bowties. “Ugh. I’m just gonna,” Darcy says with a half wave of her hand towards the line of shower heads. She shoves her hair back and marches forward to start the water running. 

She trails her fingers through the water with one hand, adjusting the temperature up and back down again. It’s nearly scalding, or so it feels after being dressed in wet clothes for what seems like days with only the comfort of a discarded burrito wrapper blanket while on the quinjet.

“Maybe I should go,” Steve says. He sounds tired, even more tired than Darcy feels. 

“Meh, s’fine,” she mutters stepping under the spray. She closes her eyes, cold fingers awkwardly fighting with the clasp of her pants. The zip slides down with less of a fight than her jacket and Darcy shimmies her hips, pushing them down and dragging her panties with them. She kicks her pants and underwear away and presses her palm flat against the wall to hold her balance as she pulls her socks off one at a time. 

She can hear Steve muttering something under his breath, the slap of something heavy hitting the floor and the clink of metal, but all she really cares about is getting clean and warm. Her skin itches beneath the mud and she reaches her hand back to unclasp her bra. Pushing the straps down her shoulders, she lets the bra fall to the floor. “Oh, God, that’s better,” Darcy groans, rubbing the angry red marks beneath her breasts. 

Steve clears his throat. Loudly. 

“Underwires are the worst,” she mutters, pushing the bra away with her toes. A hint of a blush crawls up her throat, hidden beneath the dirt. 

“If you say so,” Steve says. His eyes are glued to the tiled wall when she glances over. “Give me a minute and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I don’t care,” Darcy lies. She cares, and maybe if she didn’t feel so gross she might have cared more. It’s not like she gets the opportunity to stand naked beside Captain Rogers every day. Hell, this is actually the first time they’ve ever been alone together in the same room. Maybe there’s more than a little bit of her that wants Steve to look. Wants him to want her.  
She trails her fingers through the water again, adjusting the temperature down a bit more. “I’m tired and gross and I just want to be warm. And clean. And I’m a hundred and something percent sure I’ve got nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

Darcy steps under the shower head, letting the water hit her chest and run down the muddy curves of her body. The water hurts a little, makes her feet tingle and feel almost scalded after being cold for so long. It wasn’t even all that cold on the quinjet with that stupid emergency tinfoil blanket wrapped around her like she was the leftover food mouldering quietly in the back of the lab fridge, but she still couldn’t seem to get warm 

The cold is inside as much as out. She’d followed Roger’s orders and stuck by Natasha, she did everything right. The memory of the smile worn by the Hydra loon as he sent her tumbling head first into the swamp plays out behind her closed eyes. Dr. Spencer Nickolas was a big fat Nazi and he deserved the hit he took to the head from Cap’s shield. 

I hope an alligator shoves you under a log to rot, Nicky-boy. The thought warms her almost as much as the water.

A sighs worms its way up from her chest. Darcy curls her arms up over her breasts, lacing her hands together over her collarbone. “Oh, Gods. I’m never leaving here. Ever,” she says, turning the temperature up a fraction as her body adjusts. The sound of the water fills her head. For the first time in hours she begins to feel human, beneath the dirt that slowly washes away and the bruises forming on her skin.

Long minutes pass and Darcy isn’t entirely certain she doesn’t fall asleep standing beneath the showerhead. Her body sways and she blinks open her eyes, blindly grasping for the shampoo dispenser on the wall. Movement catches her eye and she tilts her head to glance at Steve. His back is to the spray as he slicks up his arm in a froth of scented bubbles. 

The shampoo sits forgotten in the palm of her hand as Darcy’s eyes roam over Steve’s body. The rippling muscles in his arms, the sculpted chest covered in dark hair, the streaks of mud across the cobbles of his abdomen. Darcy inhales sharply and coughs water. A blush rises in her cheeks to match the slow curl of heat burrowing down into her belly. 

You fucked up, her head screams. You shouldn’t be looking at what you can’t have. 

Shut up, Darcy thinks to herself, but she can’t do anything but agree, deep down. Maybe she’ll never be enough for Steve to want her, but at least she has something to add to her spank bank.

She slams her eyes shut again and begins to lather her hair. Tangles catch at her fingers, knots of twisted hair mixed with swamp slime and more than a few pieces of grass and twigs. 

"You done lookin'?" Steve says. 

His voice is a low rumble that shivers down her spine and collects with the heat rolling around her abdomen. Darcy’s eyes pop open, shampoo sliding down her face. Her mouth fishes open and closed, soap bubbles bitter on her tongue. Wrinkling her nose, she tilts her head back, rinsing her face and mouth clean. 

She turns her head to look at Steve, hands hovering before her breasts. He’s turned towards her now, streaks of soap bubbles accenting the contours of his body. His right hand is smoothing over his abdomen, soapy fingers tracing the line of dark hair leading down to his cock, half-hard and growing harder under her gaze. 

Darcy’s brain fizzles out. It takes a good half minute before she can drag the semblance of her thoughts together, because holy shit the gods and science had certainly blessed Steve Rogers. 

They say if you put a frog in a pot and heat the water slowly it will cook before it knows the danger. This was nothing like that. This was straight into boiling water.Sparks of arousal wrap around her spine and Darcy lets her hands drift up to cup her breasts, thumbs swirling over the hard buds of her nipples. The air catches in her throat. 

Steve’s cock twitches and a rush of triumph burns in her heart.

 

"Dunno. Are you?" she says, dragging her eyes up to clash with his as she finally answers him. 

The corner of Steve’s mouth tips up, “Not even close.” 

His voice slides through Darcy, warm honey and fire matching the heat in Steve’s blue eyes. She rolls her lip between her teeth, pressing her thighs together to dull the building ache in her pussy. 

“Good,” Darcy challenges, filling her palm with soap this time, rubbing her hands together until bubbles chase down her wrists. She spreads the body wash over her skin, hands moving in slow trails over the column of her throat, the heavy weight of her breasts and soft curves of her belly and hips. 

The taste of the shampoo lingers on her tongue. Lemongrass and tea tree. The fresh green scent lingers in her lungs as the lather rinses down her body. It grounds her in the moment, keeps her feet firmly planted beneath watery knees. 

Steve curses, low and guttural. His face and chest are pink from the heat of the water and the lust that darkens his eyes. His eyes dart away, scanning the room. Darcy’s heart stops, embarrassment filling her belly, in a slip slide that jars violently with the lust curling her toes on the rough textured tiles. Steve takes a deep breath and releases it.

Time rolls to a stop. There is only the moment they are standing in, no past, no future. Just now. She can’t breathe. Can’t hear the sound of the water rushing past her ears. Her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth and she waits for the moment to shatter. For Steve to turn his back on her and whatever this little bit of madness is. He doesn’t though. Steve meets her eyes with a steady gaze. His eyebrow quirks up and he slides his soapy hand down over his abdomen, fingertips trailing down the furrow between abdomen and hip. He curls his long fingers around his cock and stroking himself from root to tip. 

Fuuuuck.

He's huge. Uncut and long enough to feel it without his dick busting through her cervix like a chestburster alien or an Anita Blake novel. The thickness is enough to make her knees nearly give out at the thought of Steve wedging himself into her cunt. Holy fuck. Darcy doubted her fingers would meet when wrapped around his circumference. 

“Holy shit, Steve, you’re huge,” Darcy says. 

“I, uh, thanks,” he says, words that should have been shy, but with smug pride writ all over his face. Pride he deserves, though Darcy would rather he earned it in other ways. He licks his lips, and drags his hand down, pulling back the foreskin to reveal the shiny red head of his cock.

Darcy rests the tips of her fingers on the tiled wall, snaking her other hand down between her thighs. She swirls the tip of her middle finger over her clit. 

Steve makes a noise that is more growl than anything else. Darcy’s lips part but whatever words she holds in her lungs dissipate as Steve closes the gap between them. He crowds her against the wall, long fingers curling around her wrist, mouth a breath away from her lips. 

Every nerve in her body lights up like a fairground ride. He's barely touching her and it feels like she’s ready to fly apart. She licks her lips and tilts her face up to Steve in invitation. 

It's almost sweet, the way he kisses her. Firm pressure, maddeningly close-lipped, a ghost of what Darcy wants. Frustration burns in her chest like a red-hot coal. She lifts up onto the balls of her feet, wrapping her free arm around Steve’s neck, and sinks her teeth into his bottom lip. 

Steve’s breath hisses out and the next kiss is filthy. All teeth and tongues and want so sharp it cuts right to the bone. His body is taut, a wire ready to be plucked. 

Steve kisses like it's a battle he's mapped out in his head, a fight that he already knows the outcome of. He licks into her mouth, his hand twisting on her wrist to curl over hers, his fingers pressing over her clit, too.

“Steve,” Darcy gasps in a voice she hardly recognises as her own. 

“Say no and I'll stop,” Steve says, voice a jagged rush of syllables. 

“Yes,” Darcy says. She rocks up to fit her mouth to Steve’s again, licks his perfect bottom lip, scrapes her teeth over it. Steve groans in the back of his throat, and lust flows down her body. Darcy wobbles on her toes, dropping back so her ass hits the tiled wall. 

The shower washes her hair onto her face, into her mouth. She slips her hand from under Steve’s, clinging to him with her other hand, short glitter-painted nails digging faint crescents into the smooth freckled skin on Steve’s shoulder. She’s unwilling to let go of him even for a moment. If she let go there’sthe possibility that this is all a fantasy, though her fantasies have never painted such a detailed picture before. 

She shoves the hair out of her face and blinks the water from her eyes. Steve’s free hand reaches up to push a lock of hair over her shoulder and trace the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw. The touch is more intimate somehow than his long fingers cupping her sex, lightly teasing the lips of her pussy. 

“Beautiful,” Steve says, eyes dark and sincere. His thumb brushes over her mouth, stilling at the indent beneath her bottom lip. 

Darcy breathes out, a puff of air caught between a gasp and a laugh. Her belly twists and she drops her eyes down to Steve’s chest. Tucking her chin down as much as she can with his hand on her throat, she pushes his comment aside. 

“Tell me what you want.”

Go big or go home. “I want you,” she says, tilting her head back again, blue eyes locking on blue. Heat floods her face. She opens her mouth to swipe her tongue over Steve’s thumb and scratches her nails over the back of his neck. She drags her hand down over his shoulder to the broad expanse of his chest and the dark hair plastered there. “I want you to fuck me.”

Dirty talk was never really her thing. Darcy had always felt vaguely ridiculous and more than a little embarrassed talking during sex. But listening to Steve with his voice rough and still vibrating with command? Fuck.

Steve groans, his fingertips curling up to press into her cunt. Lust washes over her, so thick she can hardly breathe, can hardly think. She shifts her hips, rocking in shallow movements against Steve’s hand. It’s not enough, not even close to what she needs. 

“I need…”

“I know what you need,” Steve says. He pushes his fingers up, sliding two into Darcy’s cunt. A whine spills from her lips and she tightens around Steve’s fingers. “So wet.”

“Wet for you,” Darcy says, voice a breathy whisper hardly recognisable as her own. 

A smile, bright as the sun, lights up Steve’s face. He curls his fingers inside her, dragging the pads over the front wall of her cunt. 

Needy sounds spill from Darcy’s lips, drags her nails down Steve’s chest, leaving pink lines that disappear as soon as they form. “Want you inside me.”

“Gotta get you ready for me first,” Steve says. He fucks her with his fingers, scissoring them apart. The pad of his thumb brushes over Darcy’s clit, teasing circles of pressure that curls Darcy’s toes and limits the air she can pull into her lungs. 

“God,” Darcy says. It’s all she can say with Steve’s hand on her, his fingers in her. He bends down to kiss her again, trailing his lips and teeth over her jaw and the short column of her neck. It’s hot and awkward, with Steve towering over her, pulling ragged mewling sounds from her with his clever, clever fingers. She never wants this moment, this fantasy to end. “A little to the left.”

Steve moves his thumb, rolling her clit beneath it and heat throbs through her body. Her neck twinges, and she drops her head to Steve’s chest, dragging her hand down his belly to ghost over his cock, trapped between them. His cock jumps against her touch and his breath hitches in his throat. Darcy wraps her hand around him. Her thumb and middle finger aren’t even close to touching. “Fuuuuck. You’re huge,” she says, beginning to doubt that he’ll inside her. 

She strokes over his cock and down to cup the heavy weight of his balls and back up again. The foreskin crinkles beneath her fingers and she teases her thumb over the exposed head. Steve hisses between his teeth, fingers stilling inside her for a heartbeat.

“Sorry,” she says pulling her thumb away. There’s a map in her head of all the things she thought she knew about Steve Rogers, lines and curves of topography that had more to do with his heroic alter ego than the man with his fingers inside her. 

He palms her breast with his free hand, the edge of his thumbnail scraping over an aching nipple. Keening noises fill Darcy’s ears as fire sparks down her veins. “I need…” 

She arches back, bumping her head against the smooth tiled wall. The muscles in her thighs begin to twitch. Steve slips a third finger into her and it feels like too much. Darcy tightens around the fullness, rotates her hips in tiny circles.

“You okay, Darcy?” Steve asks, his voice a jagged rumble in her ear. 

“Mmm, yeah, just,” Darcy babbles. The words are more a string of broken syllables than language. But it's had to think when Steve crooks his fingers. A gasp explodes from Darcy’s lungs. She's balancing on the knife edge of orgasm. “Oh. Oh. Yes. God.”

“You’re so close, I can feel it,” Steve whispers into the shell of her ear. “I've got you, Darcy. Let go for me. Please.”

It's the desperate way he says please that pushes Darcy over the edge. Her voice breaks on his name as she comes, clenching rhythmically around his fingers. He’s the only thing keeping her on her toes as aftershocks ripple through her. 

“Good?” 

“So good,” Darcy says releasing a shaking breath. Her brain is static, all fuzzy white noise that weaves together with the sound of the shower and her uneven breath. Her body feels heavy and warm. Everything feels perfect. 

Steve slips his fingers from her pussy, taps his fingertips over her clit. “We can stop. If you want.”

“What?”

“We can stop, if you want,” Steve repeats, giving her hip a rough squeeze. He closes his eyes, mouth forming a tight line as he pulls her hand away from his cock. 

“Do. Not. Want,” Darcy says, reaching up to pull his head down to hers. She kisses him hard. Catches his plump bottom lip between her crooked teeth, biting down hard enough that Steve groans into her mouth. 

Steve’s hands slide down Darcy’s hips and grip her wet thighs, lifting her up off her feet. An indignant squeal bursts from her lips as she tangles her limbs around Steve like ivy. 

She’s trapped between the wall and Steve’s bulk. He nips at her jaw and squeezes her thighs in his hands. He’s hard and hot against her belly, warmer than the water wrinkling her fingers and toes. Darcy wiggles in his grip, little frustrated sounds spilling from her lips, until the blunt head of his cock bumps against her pussy. Steve groans, a pained sound that makes Darcy’s pulse jump and her body clench. 

Steve licks his lips, and swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve, fucking yes,” Darcy says. Words swarm on her tongue, but she swallows them down. There are some things she isn’t ready to reveal. Even to herself. 

Steve laughs a little, releasing her with one hand. His fingers spread her lips apart as he guides the tip of his cock into her. Darcy bites her lip as she sinks down on the head of his cock. She wants to go faster, take him all in at once but Steve sets the pace as he slowly splits her in two. Patience was never on the list of Darcy’s virtues, if she had any at all. 

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, gripping tight to his shoulders, burying her face into the side of his neck. The stretch burns, wavering closer to pain, than pleasure. Gravity pulls at her body and she sinks down, taking another inch. Fuck. Her body tightens up and she forgets to breathe. 

“Darcy,” Steve whispers into her wet hair. He strokes his hand over her hip and reaches up to brush strands of hair from her cheek, a line of worry between his brows. 

“M’okay,” she says breathing out shakily. She lifts her head and brushes her lips against his. “Just, give me a minute.” 

He slips his hand behind her, pulling her away from the wall to stroke down her spine and rub slow circles into her hip. “I’ve got you.” He holds her as if she weighs nothing more than the water spilling down their shoulders and swirling around his feet. “You feel so good.”

She relaxes into Steve’s touch, focusing on the ragged sound of his breathing. He raises her up and lets gravity pull her back down on his cock until there is no space between them. “God, Steve, you’re huge,” she gasps out, rolling her hips in small jerky movements as her body adjusts to the stretch. 

“You already said that.”

“It deserves repeating,” she says, not sure how her brain can form words with Steve so solid inside her. She flexes as best she can, a fluttering movement around his cock that pulls a whine from his lips. His hips thrust forward, burying himself deeper inside her. “Fuck.” The word hisses out between her lips, the sound of a bottle opening or the last bit of air being expelled from her lungs. “Poor, poor, Beaufort,” Darcy laments, reaching a hand up to wrap her fingers around the showerhead where it connects with the wall. 

“Who?” Steve asks, a line of confusion forming between his brows. His hands tighten reflexively on Darcy’s body, hips pushing her hard into the wall. 

“The horse I’ll be telling everyone I lost for the next week,” she says, punctuating her words with a slow revolution of her hips and a wide smile. Steve barks out a laugh that sends a shot of warmth rippling down to her toes. 

“You sure gotta mouth on you, Darce,” he says cradling her jaw. His thumb drags over her bottom lip, as he pulls back, effortlessly holding her up against the wall as he begins to move. 

“I tr...y.” The slow drag of his cock inside her shatters the teasing tone of her words. Needy little gasps and moans fill Darcy’s ears, and it takes the few brain cells she has left to realise that the sounds are coming from her throat as Steve fucks her into the slick tiled wall. Her knuckles are white where she grips the showerhead with one hand, her other hand holding tight to Steve’s shoulder. Short nails dig crescents into freckled skin pinked by the heat of the water. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, slipping his hands down to hook behind her knees as he wedges himself into her over and over again. He pulls her knees up and apart, changing the angle of his cock inside her. 

An icy spike of adrenaline burns through her veins that does little to curb the spiral of heat coiling tight in her belly. Darcy tilts her head back, smacking it against the wall. “Ow,” she mutters under her breath. Her body feels so tight, skin sparking with sensation with each thrust of Steve’s hips, and the words falling from his lips to be swallowed by the water washing over him. 

Her hair is in her face, covering her eyes, touching the corner of her mouth as Steve’s hips begin to falter, the rhythm shifting to something rough and desperate that matches the fierce look plastered over his face. She’s hovering on the edge of orgasm again, fireworks dancing at the edge of her vision, when Steve shouts out a curse. His body arcs away from her, jaw slack, hands squeezing her knees tight, his cock jerking as he comes hard inside her. 

It’s the last push of his hips against hers, grinding her into the wall that sends her over the edge. “Oh, god,” she calls out, digging her nails into his skin as her cunt flutters around his still hard cock. The tiny fireworks build to a blinding white as pleasure ripples out from her core. 

She drops her hand from the showerhead to cling to Steve’s shoulders as he sinks down to his knees. The movement pings the strained muscles in Darcy’s hips. Steve lifts her up enough that his cock slips from her pussy and Darcy can’t hide the wince of pain that plays out across her lips.

“Darcy,” Steve whispers, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

“M’hmm, so good, Steve, so, so good,” she replies softly, distracted by the oddly hollow feel curling inside her belly at war with how wrung out she feels. Wrung out, aching, and more human that she felt since before the mission. 

“We should probably shut the water off and get dried up.”

“Noooo, can’t,” Darcy whines, clinging to Steve like a half-dead limpet. She’s not entirely certain her legs can carry her across the room to where stacks of fluffy white towels are calling her name. “Five more minutes to marinate my wrinkly pinkies.”

“Oh, well if it’s for the pinkies,” he says, voice brimming with tired amusement. He held her without complaint, long after the five minutes was up and Darcy was more prune than person.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all my lovely readers who come back again and again to read and reread my stories. Thank you for the kudos, the comments, and the hits. I know I'm terrible at replying, I rarely have the spoons these days, but the emails with your comments and the kudos email mean the world to me. <3 Thank you so very much.


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